sapio | open.

He himself had removed his shirt to reassure Kaveh that that alone was the full extent of his injuries. Aside from a bruise on his side from a well-placed kick he was unable to defend from, the gash was the only thing of note.

If of note at all. He looks down around his shoulder, curious at the way the architect's hands moved. Dexterous fingers and steady wrists, stronger than they looked. Alhaitham doesn't remember a time when he hadn't been mesmerized to watch them work.

He shakes his head. "I've dealt with worse," on anyone, this could be a statement of bravado. On Alhaitham, it's just fact. "I'm impressed," is how he thanks Kaveh softly. "Maybe you should have studied in Amurta instead."

At least his bandaged bicep is snug and clean now, rather than the haphazard way in which Alhaitham supposedly took care of it. "Don't move it so much," he scolds softly as he puts back the tools used to tend to him back into a wooden box. He'll use any excuse to glance over at his exposed skin. They're so close and yet worlds away.

"I, well. I wouldn't say that," he always takes what he says to heart, doesn't he? Alhaitham definitely knows it. "I've gotten pretty badly hurt in the desert, so I always bring first aid tools just in case." He has acquired plenty of scars in those types of outings. Especially his legs and arms. "Tighnari is the one who gave me this ointment, actually. He said that it numbs the skin on contact, is it true? How do you feel?"

Does it numb the skin? The Scribe is rolling his shirt around his wrists as he is preparing to put it back on and stops in his tracks to look at the (expert) work Kaveh left him on his arm. Truthfully, Alhaitham has a threshold that's quite wide. It allowed him to progress in his own abilities outside of the office if he were to look at it objectively—fatigue only hits him after a long while of reading or a short while of interacting with people, he is able to stretch further than most tight-muscled desk-bound scholars, and he barely feels any soreness in the days like this one, post a surprise aggressive occurrence.
(Or a long session.)

"Huh. I hadn't noticed," he presses his fingers where Kaveh had placed the ointment gently. "It didn't really hurt much in the first place, but I hadn't paid much mind to it."

"I saw you this morning," he counters, implying that the ordeal shook him in ways Kaveh noticed earlier but didn't think to comment. The sweating, his physical fatigue, all signs of a body that had been pushed to its limits.

He gets up to put away the box as well as to hide his expression from him. His newly formed contract with Eremites and their plan positively terrify him. He just wanted to help these people. "You don't have to act around me, you know." Well, that's mighty coming from Kaveh now, but it holds true.

He first wants to say that he was tired, not hurting, when he arrived home that morning. A correction, something to clear what had happened in his perspective. The second thing he considers speaking is about how Alhaitham did not and is not acting anything around Kaveh, a clarification as much as an assuagement. While he prefers a more direct approach, Alhaitham has learned, thanks to his roommate, about the importance of tact. Most of the time, he doesn't bother with it.

Neither of those come forth. Instead, Alhaitham gets up, eyes skimming up and down on the architect's form, and narrowing slightly. "You're upset."

Leave it to Kaveh to inject himself with excessive mental ordeals that could be avoided. The blatancy of his observation irritates him. There's no follow-up, hardly ever is. It's not even Alhaitham's faults or flaws that drive Kaveh's emotions to this degree. He has learned to suffer in silence, deep in all the what ifs. He turns to glance at him, his eyes scan him from head to toe just to be sure he's intact. "You think?"

"Now I know," is what he replies, he just needed the confirmation. A knot forms between his brows as he tries to figure Kaveh out as to why he's upset.

"I couldn't send a message telling you about my situation, there was no means nor time to do so." The largest, most likely probability has to do with the fact that he couldn't really warn his roommate that he was unable to attend their dinner and cancel their plans. Though it is somewhat too cold for Kaveh to think that way—especially considering Alhaitham is injured. The architect was too kind to overlook someone injured.

Although, there's an outlier in that vast number of possibilities, and it is something that he once read in a book recommended by their archon. There's what he knows, the hefty things that Alhaitham knows he doesn't know, and the neverending concept of what he doesn't know he doesn't know. "It's something else, though."

Kaveh is capable of unintended harshness just as Alhaitham is. One could even argue that Kaveh is overbearing, seemingly tipped by the air itself. Yet in reality, he's an iceberg of issues with a vast majority that have yet to find settlement in his heart.

Some of them are ones that are entirely out of Kaveh's control. He already lost Alhaitham to some degree. He doesn't want to lose him entirely. "It has nothing to do with you," he replies, and well, it's not entirely a lie. Plenty of stress is accumulating on his shoulders, but he can't just swallow the words and let them sink into his chest either. He wouldn't be able to sleep. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Alright," he concedes. He'll take it, if Kaveh says so, he sees no reason to believe he'd lie. Sure, they have skirted around subjects and resorted to small omissions and diversions at times, but they both knew that the other was somewhat aware of it and allowed the omission to roll in, or themselves to be distracted.

Alhaitham is about to ask if it's still something that he can help solve, be it by direct action or just becoming a sanity check for whatever is troubling Kaveh, but he then says that he's glad and—

What was he going to ask again?

He sighs, nods. The Scribe grabs his shirt again and makes to pull the fabric down through his arms and he tsks, doing it with some difficulty because he doesn't want to ruin Kaveh's handiwork.

"Come with me, then," he says as he maneuvers himself carefully back into it.

It’s impossible for Kaveh to disguise emotions. Whenever he tries to do so, it winds up an issue that must later be dragged out from the shadows. He’s overreacting because he cares, even if he steps on a few wrong branches.

It’s not easy living here. Always reminded that Alhaitham and him aren’t what they used to. “What?” He asks breathlessly, fully aware that a reaction like this is bound to garner a sarcastic remark. Of course he heard him right. “You’re saying you have to go back there after what happened?! Isn’t that supposed to be in the hands of the matra now?” More importantly, Alhaitham is actually willing to give himself a headache and take Kaveh along?

Alhaitham finishes tugging his shirt in place, tucking the hem neatly into his waistline, adjusting the sash to his preferred position, and ensuring that there's no hair nor stitch out of place. He glances up, the eyebrow uncovered by his grey hair raising slightly. "I haven't had a proper meal yet. Let's go get something to eat first."

“Alhaitham!” It is true that Kaveh is also starving for a meal but he detests it when Alhaitam blatantly ignores him like this. Part of him thinks he does it on purpose most of the time, knowing how much it grates his nerves. He observes him adjust his shirt back into place again with arms crossed, brows creased. “Will you talk to me after we eat?”

He checks he has everything (including both keys), and he shrugs. "Of course," very noncommital. He doesn't really understand what else there is to talk about. He has reported the issue to the authorities already, and of course, there's the subject that Kaveh is upset about that he'll delve into later. He cants his head towards the door. "Technically I haven't stopped."

“You changed the subject,” he clarifies as they both head out to the evening. He keeps on glancing at him and the fresh cloth wrapping his wound. “I— Ugh, what do you want to eat?” It’s not like he wants to discuss anything serious over a meal and in public. Enough people see them together regularly like this after all, and he wants to avoid any other rumors.

"Is there anything else about it we need to discuss?" He asks genuinely, as though the Scribe is wondering if they missed anything on a shopping list, like many times before. From his point of view, the issue of his delay, his injury, and his exhaustion, all had been taken care of by standard process, Kaveh's expert bandaging, and a day of sleep, respectively. But then again, he supposes that something like this has lingering somethings underlining the situation that Kaveh, with his sense and sensibility, taps onto. "I was thinking of a Shawarma Wrap, but I'm open to suggestions."

"Well, not right now, no. After we eat," that buys him enough time to debate himself whether he should open up about his own issues. In all fairness, he knows he should. Then part of him remembers that neither of them have a right to their private business anymore. "I don't mind a Shawarma wrap. We can share one, it'll be less expensive," and then Alhaitham has less to hang over his head. "What do you think of Fontaine?" Comes out seemingly out of the blue, but really, he keeps thinking about it lately; how it is excruciating living with him and how nothing has changed.

"Fontaine?" That's surprising, but it's not the first, nor he would assume it would be the last, time that Kaveh would bring something up that would stir under the surface of his thoughts like a Wenut on the prowl. Alhaitham makes no mention of splitting a wrap; he's assuming he's famished, but he'll see how much of it will be wanting to eat at the time. "I've heard some travelers mentioning how tense it's been there, lately," he opens the door to Lambad's tavern ahead of him to let Kaveh walk through first—done thoughtlessly, as though it's second nature. He knows that Kaveh's mother lives and works there, and that is often a worrying concept for him. "Did you hear news from your mother?"

It wouldn't be the first time he brings it up. Alhaitham is prone to listening about Kaveh's most intimate aspects of life, that being what's left of his family. Bound by blood but separated by fate. He clings to this idea that family will have meaning once again in the future.

He walks into Lambad and past Alhaitham's kindness which is also second nature. They might be like water and oil most of the time, but their bodies sometimes speak for themselves. Kaveh finds a table upstairs for the two and sits by the window. Their complimentary drinks are given right on cue and as if they were expected. So, Kaveh drinks. "I, well. Yes. Apparently, the housing system there is going through a reform so she is to either move farther away from the city and commute to work, or bunk with another family. I haven't written back," his twenty-million mora is pending and he doesn't believe he actually made that much money until he sees it. "I plan to send her some money for the time being." And if that doesn't work, then he'll have no choice but to move. He avoids eye contact with him when he thinks about it. In theory, this would be the best option for the two. His heart just can't stand the idea.

Mora is a catalyst. Not just in regards to its usage in crafting, how it works as a path to transform one thing into another, transfer and transform energy, but in everything else as well. He'll hand it over to the God of Geo—he created something that shaped the whole of Teyvat, wrapped around his grasp. With the death of Rex Lapis, Alhaitham did hear the people at work consider the possibility of the Golden House's mint halting eventually and its repercussions. While creating money can make prices inflate, and the catalyst itself loses its power, a stop can mean inequality, less market, and more tense relationships. Everything wins value, but with it, access is less frequent.

Such are the rules of economy, anyway. Alhaitham did manage to study them plenty, but he wonders if there's more to it if the possibility does happen.

After all, Mora seems to be what drives Kaveh nowadays. Like many people, anyway. The presence of money can highlight existing values, priorities, and insecurities within relationships. It can reveal disparities in financial contributions, expose differing attitudes towards wealth and spending, and challenge the sense of fairness and trust between individuals. Money can become a symbol of success, power, and social standing, fueling desires and ambitions that may not align with the core values and aspirations of partners or friends.

Of course, though, Alhaitham finds mora as a means to trade and create a lifestyle more than any of those ideals attached to it or the ideals attached to the lack of it. Mora is a tool, and the lack of it means the lack of access to it.

So when Kaveh suddenly decides that the table is the most interesting thing in the world, he notices. Of course, he notices. Alhaitham takes a sip of his drink before ordering two wraps and some sides because he is, indeed, famished, and feels like eating the whole stock. If that were in the realm of possibility, anyway.

The situation in Fontaine seems to be worsening. He had heard of the waterline crisis, the strange dichotomy of the liberties that technology provides, the arts coming from there, and the strictness around them. He frowns. "Are you concerned about rent?"

Mora is such a dangerous concept. It makes or destroys individuals, the latter being true most of the time. Whether it's due to a surplus or poverty, Kaveh has had a taste of both sides. Helping others is where true happiness lies, and even so, he can hardly do that unless he uses mora in some way.

He's trying to convince himself in the back of his mind that Fontaine might suit him more. Even after Sages were overthrown, most people here still don't understand the value of an artist.

"When is rent not an issue? Of course I am. And on top of that, all the debt, too. Let's just enjoy ourselves and eat. This conversation is going to suck the taste off of the food," a sigh jets out, he looks the other way - towards his glass of wine, and picks it up to chug.

It's not like he can stop Kaveh from drinking, though he does know how that often ends. Alhaitham doesn't even frown when the architect tries to dismiss inconvenient conversation over a drink, because he's witnessed that just as frequently. The former tends to be a product of the latter, in fact.

If the money sent to his mother is nothing but a common worry about which Alhaitham has been a soundboard for Kaveh to get his ideas in order and his frustrations out of his system before, then there must be another variable to have him ask about his thoughts on the place. The question is what variable that would be?

Though Alhaitham prefers a certain method to find out when it comes to the Light of Kshahrewar: just bluntly asking. "Why are you asking me about Fontaine, then?"

It is true that his dismissal is almost hypocritical. Kaveh's chest is full of unspoken words that he would rather choke on than admit. "I just wanted your opinion on the situation there, that's all. Everything else, well, that can wait for another time. It's drinking time now," it's almost like he's telling himself that to avoid going on about the topic after he inevitably gets drunk.

Though he still waits until their food arrives, he wants to at least enjoy the feast, too. Another dinner, another debt. "How come you never have anything to complain about? How does your arm feel?"

"Well, if you must know: I find it rather concerning," he'll admit to his roommate because if he's worried, then perhaps he can work as a sanity check, a reassurance that Kaveh is not worrying over nothing. "It's good that your mother is moving, but I do wonder why we haven't heard of an initiative at a larger scale." Granted, logistics and construction would definitely be a concern, but Fontaine is one of the most advanced places in terms of technology. Surely, they'd think of something?

He should try and find some books about it. That and, if the Traveler's path is to be of any reference, he's sure they'll head to Fontaine soon after they've explored enough of Sumeru to find some answers, at least.

The food does arrive fairly quickly. The order was simple, and Lambad had the proper meat for the wraps always ready to be sliced for a quick meal. It's one of the most innovative things about the tavern, really. Perhaps aligned with the design of the second floor. Alhaitham's lip quirks, but it may just be because he's glad the food has finally arrived. "It stings when I move. Why, would it make you feel better if I complained about it all the time?"

"I didn't say she would be moving, but that she may have no choice," he clarifies quickly before taking another sip of wine. The depth in which his feelings go for the situation is driving nails into his heart. Sometimes Kaveh doesn't have to speak to tell someone what's bothering him. Still, there are many more thoughts that still plague him and they all revolve around the man sitting in front of him.

"Uhm. Then don't move so much. It's not about me wanting to hear all about your complaints. Your life... Is just...Well, nevermind," he's perfect is what he's trying to say. It's the perfect time now to busy his mouth by stuffing it with some food.

Any other time and Alhaitham would point out that the logistics of moving, regardless of choice or not, still existed and that's what he had referred to, but for now, he takes a rather large bite of his wrap. Immediately he realizes he really needed it — the exhaustion of the previous day still needed some recovering.

"How am I supposed to not move it, then? Doing this with one hand is only going to spell disaster," though the Scribe does hone in on the faltering of that end of the sentence, Alhaitham quickly makes a few deductions. "Do you honestly believe I don't have anything to complain about in my life?"

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those new icons 😳

heh, thank you!

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